


In Plain Sight

by Thirdeyeblinkings



Series: Fun and Games [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Forced Proximity, Fun and Games, Hide and Seek, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 06:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19167361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirdeyeblinkings/pseuds/Thirdeyeblinkings
Summary: A simple game of hide-and-seek brings Harry and Draco closer.





	In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of ficlets I have planned revolving around muggle games (not party games or drinking games but actual children's games). There will be many ships, and the stories will not necessarily be connected or within the same universe or time period. Marauders, Next Gen, Golden Trio--it's all on the table. (I might revisit this Harry and Draco though *sly grin*) In most cases, the games trope will be the only link. Enjoy this bit of fun, and if you have any hopes for a fun and games ficlet using a particular HP ship and/or game, let me know in the comments or in my tumblr asks. :)
> 
> Thank you to buildyourwalls for the quick beta! <3

**In Plain Sight**

 

 _Well, isn’t this a pretty picture_ , Draco thinks bitterly. Oh yes, it’s quite lovely: Draco on his knees in front of Potter. Potter, wearing Draco’s hoodie and trying very hard to be quiet and act casual.

Without context, it’s a dream. His favourite kind of dream. The irony doesn’t escape him. But unfortunately for Draco (and for Potter, Draco can’t help but think), this is nothing like the scene he’s imagined so many times before.

No, this is ridiculous. Absolutely and infuriatingly stupid.

Draco tries to angle himself so he can be a little more comfortable under the cramped library desk. His elbow knocks against the wall.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

“Shhh!” Potter scolds, bumping his trainer-clad foot against Draco’s ankle.

Granger’s voice carries through the stacks to the left of them. “I know I saw Harry go this way!”

“Maybe he changed his mind,” huffs Weasley.

“Who knew he’d be so good at this?”

“Well, he was raised by muggles.”

“So was I, and I’m pants at it.”

“You overthink it. Too clever for it, I expect,” says Weasley, with a gooey fondness that makes Draco want to retch.

“Found Seamus!” Pansy hollers with glee from Merlin knows where.

Draco simply cannot believe that even the Slytherins are participating in this infantile muggle games trend. Red Rover, Freeze Tag, and now Hide and Seek. One would think they had all been de-aged.

And while he won’t begrudge anyone taking joy wherever they can find it after the war, there must be a more dignified way for the eighth years to entertain themselves on weekends.  

He’s managed to keep out of it, until now.

“The best way to play it is hiding in plain sight,” Weasley blathers on insufferably.  

Draco hears Potter snicker to himself above him. Oh, yes, he must be so pleased with himself since his two best mates walked right past him without batting an eye. Draco hates to admit it, but it is a good hiding place, even if it’s terribly inconvenient for him.

He should have thought this through ten minutes ago when the madness began. There he was, studying for his NEWTS and minding his own business, when Potter nearly ran into him.

***

“Quick! Give me your hoodie!”

“Beg pardon?”

“Just give it to me okay?”

And like an idiot, he obliged. Just stripped it off and handed it to Potter for no good reason. Even Potter looked surprised for a moment before pulling it on. Draco could only watch in disbelief as Potter’s head popped through the neck of his favourite sage green hoodie. The fabric stretched across Potter’s chest in a way that made it very obvious that he was was quite fit, despite the year on the run. But this was old news for Draco. Very old news indeed. Potter flicked the hood up and over his head and grinned.

“Brilliant! Now let me sit there.”

Draco gaped at him. “Potter, there is a whole row of empty seats! Take one of those!”

“That’s not the point! It’s for the game!”

Draco tried to make his best incredulous-yet-bored-but-also-condescending face, but it was no use.

“Please, Malfoy?” Potter’s eyes were wide and matched so perfectly with the fleecy fabric hugging his ears.

Dear gods, why did those green eyes have to be so vivid?

“Fine.”

“Great, now get under the desk.”

“ _What?”_

“C’mon, hide! It won’t work if they see you. They have to think I’m you, see? And they’d never think of looking for someone under your desk.”

“So _you_ hide there, then!”

Potter pouted. Actually honest-to-Godric pouted. Categorically unfair. But that was Potter to a T. It didn’t matter. Draco already knew he was going to go along with it before he agreed and scurried under there like a scared rat.

***

And now here he is, face-to . . . crotch with Potter on a Saturday afternoon.

How long is he going to have to sit here? And for what? So Potter can claim another meaningless victory? And since when is being the best at hiding something to be proud of?

“I can hear you sighing like that, you know,” Potter says when the crowd of seekers has moved on.

“Like what?” Draco whispers, indignant. “Like, this is the stupidest bloody thing I’ve ever been a part of, perhaps?”

Potter then leans back in his chair so he can look under the desk, meeting Draco’s scowl with his head tilted sideways and a “ _Really,_ _Malfoy_?” expression on his face.

Draco sniffs. “Oh, please. You know what I mean. Second stupidest, all right?”

“Git,” Potter mutters.

“I’ll thank you _not_ to insult me while wearing my clothes? Can I have that back now, by the way? You’re stretching it out.”

Draco’s voice has turned petulant in a way he knows is most unbecoming, but old habits die hard, especially when Potter is involved.  

“Shh,” Potter breathes again, as footsteps come closer. They both freeze, yes, even Draco, loathe as he is to admit it’s just a tiny bit thrilling. But the footsteps fade away again without reaching them.

“This is really soft,” Potter murmurs above him, voice low and gravelly. Draco’s chest twists with something he doesn’t care to address right now. Why Potter has to make it sound like he’s snogging Draco’s hoodie is beyond him, but it has to stop.

“Of course it is,” he snaps. “It’s cashmere.”

“You have a cashmere hoodie? You take ponce to a new level, you know that?”

“And yet, I don’t hear you complaining,” Draco bites back.

“Smells nice, too,” Potter observes. “Is that the cashmere?”

“Of course it’s not the bloody cashmere, you utter Philistine. They’re not bathing the fucking _goats_ in lavender and lemon.”

“Muggle fashion reference. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t patronise me,” Draco says, trying unsuccessfully to kick Potter’s foot from this position. It’s the best way he can think of to dutifully ignore the fact that what smells good to Potter is actually _him_ , and that he’s just unwittingly revealed the fragrance of his favourite soap.

“Anyway,” he adds, a little late, “I’ll have to burn the defiled thing after today, I suppose.”

That shuts Potter up for a moment. But not long enough.

“You know what I like about you, Malfoy?”

“I can scarcely imagine,” he responds dryly, his traitorous heart ratcheting in his chest.

“So.” Potter nudges Draco’s knee with his foot, "Fucking. Dramatic.”

A whisper of a laugh escapes Draco. Is Potter . . . _flirting_? No, of course not.

“You’d think I lived through a war or something,” he deadpans.

“Yeah.”

If there was a mood, he just killed it. Which is just as well, really. He should get out of here before everything turns to shit, as it inevitably will.

“Look, Potter, I’d say your friends have given up. You’ve wo--mphgggh”

There’s a hand on his mouth and he hears the thunder of footsteps approaching quickly.

Potter’s hand is on his mouth. His hand is on his fucking mouth.

His nostrils take in whatever spicy scent clings to Potters wrist, and his lips can feel the roughness of Potter’s calloused palm. He should probably struggle or something, but his Malfoy sense of self-preservation can only override desire for so long.

It shouldn’t feel this _nice_ , but Merlin, it does. Warm and exciting, and dear gods, he is an idiot. The hand loosens a little, but doesn’t drop, like Potter doesn’t quite trust him not to blow his cover. Draco closes his mouth, lips brushing Potter’s palm as he does so. Is it possible he hears a sharp intake of breath from Potter at the same instant? Wishful thinking.

“Draco?” Granger says curiously from somewhere a few feet away. “Have you seen Harry?”

Draco’s about to say “No,” when Potter’s finger and thumb grab his chin. For some reason, the touch goes straight to Draco’s cock. _Shit._ Shit shit shit and fuck Potter for putting him in this position in the first place. So Draco decides--just for fun, just to fuck with Potter of course--to give the bastard a taste of his own medicine. He leans his head ever-so-slightly, so that it’s pressed against the inside of Potter’s leg. As he expected, Potter’s finger and thumb slacken. He seizes his chance, turning quickly and sucking Potter’s finger into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it.

Potter’s muscles go visibly rigid, Draco notes with satisfaction. Serves him fucking right, and it’s worth whatever hell Draco will have to pay afterwards.

But then it’s Draco’s turn to be surprised, because Potter doesn’t draw his finger out. No, he . . . is he slipping it in further?

Yes. Oh. _Ooh_. Circle’s tits--all the way to the back of Draco’s throat, Draco’s mouth opens further; his teeth scrape Potter’s knuckle. Probably trying to make Draco gag, the tosser.

Well, Potter had better think again. Don’t fuck with a Slytherin. Instead of drawing back immediately, Draco swallows around Harry’s finger, hard.

Something between a grunt and a whimper comes from above. It’s lovely sound, a glorious sound. It sounds like triumph.

“Draco?” Granger says again. Draco watches Potter shift closer to the desk, and hopes the berk will at least shake his head or something. It won’t do to appear uncooperative, even if it is just Granger.

“Fine, be that way,” she sighs, then takes a deep breath before calling out, “Harry! You’re the last one! You can come out now!”

Neither Harry nor Draco move. Draco’s still got Harry’s finger in his mouth, though he has managed to draw back by now. He gives it another hard suck and laves the underside with his tongue. It tastes and feels surprisingly good. But then, he’s always had a bit of an oral fixation.

He sees Potter’s other hand clench tightly on his thigh. Hmm.

Draco allows his hand to wander down to Potter’s ankle, his fingertips dipping just below the sock to find a pulse point. It’s skittering and fast, matching his own. Perfect.

Gods, but Draco's hard. This position only makes it worse. He wonders if Potter matches him there, too, but his baggy jeans and robes make it difficult to tell. And while Draco could . . . _check_ , that somehow doesn’t seem in the spirit of whatever this is that they’re doing.

Potter remains silent above him.

“D’you think he left?” Weasley says blankly as they rush past. “I bet he still has that cloak somewhere.”

“He wouldn’t cheat, Ron,” Granger scolds. “Come on, maybe he’s in the restricted section.”

“You’re not going there without a Slytherin,” Pansy sneers.

“We _have_ been there before you know, Parkinson.”

“Running in and out on a dare doesn’t _count_ , Granger.”

They continue bickering until they’re out of earshot.

It’s then that Potter withdraws his finger quickly, making Draco’s lips pop closed. The legs of the chair screech and echo as Potter pushes back and away from the desk. He breathes heavily and pushes his fringe away from his eyes before meeting Draco’s gaze, pupils blown and brow furrowed. _That--_ Draco thinks hazily-- _is one fucking good look on the Saviour._

Draco clears his throat. “Going to find your friends?” He asks, all innocence.

Potter shakes his head slowly.

“And . . . my jumper?”

“Think I’ll hold onto it,” Potter says in a strained voice.

The _things_ Draco wants to do to him, wearing that, or anything.

“You do that,” Draco says softly, liking the idea far too much. “You know where to find me when you’re ready to give it back.”

“Yeah?” Potter’s eyes flick to the exit and back.

“Of course,” Draco purrs. “Keep it as long as you like. Or until the next game.”

“Yeah. All right. Thanks, Draco.”

Draco sniffs and waves his hand in response.

The air is thick between them as Potter rises to a stand, adjusts his robes and blinks twice before giving his head a shake and making for the corridor.

Draco crawls out from the desk and reclaims his seat, watching Potter go.

“Harry," he says and Potter's startled eyes find him over his shoulder. “Well played. Not bad for a Gryffindor.”

Harry sends a half smirk his way and keeps walking, leaving Draco smug, flustered and brimming with want.

Perhaps there’s something to be said for childish games, after all. It may be prudent to test that theory.  But much would depend on who’s playing.


End file.
